The end of the
line at Darjeeling. The terminus of the Darjeeling Himalyan Railway
is that vaguely pink building in the background that looks like the
bottom tier of a wedding cake. The railway track in the foreground is
the only bit left of the spur that used to run right into the market
at Darjeeling. The two girls, aioughh, on the right are about to catch
the afternoon train home. There's a long wheelbase series one parked
up in the sun and all is well with the world.
I'm just about
to walk up the hill for a chota peg and a walk around the billiard table
with the chaps at the planters club.
The Planters
Club, Darjeeling.
If you find yourself
at a loose end in the hills try a train ride, aioughh. The chaps here
are filling the little engine with water - I never touch the stuff myself.
It's also essential that you remember to get a tiffin box from your
hotel - The New Elgin does an especially nice one. Then it's just a
case of tightening your sudhar puttees, putting on your solar topee
and heading off with your faithful bearer, bleioougghh. Oh and don't
forget to put a few stiff pegs of Gordons in your flask for the day.
Ahh here comes
our locomotive. Brave little feller this one - built in Glasgow in 1894
and still going strong after 108 years of Indian maintenance. Makes
you damn proud to be British, aaiouggh, bleioougghh. The roast beef
of old England, the smack of willow on leather and cricket...
Aaaiouggh, we're
off...in a cloud of leaking steam, mangled oaths in Hindi and a series
of asthmatic gasps, the gallant little engine hauls itself out of the
station and starts off up the hill to Ghum, the first stop on the way
down. (Darjeeling, although it's the terminus of the railway is lower
than Ghum which as well as having a railway museum and Buddhist monastery,
is home to Dolores - a delightful cheechee girl who does a lovely tea
and crumpet, bleioougghh!!)
